


Three Triangles

by ashheaps



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashheaps/pseuds/ashheaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s there that Megan catches the weighted interactions between her sister and her girlfriend. They’re both oblivious to their reflections in the glass, whispering to each other about the delicate bone cutlery and the thin blue hand-painted scrolls around the gold brimmed plates.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Triangles

They’ve always been close, but they’ve never been confused for each other. They’ve always maintained a kind of separation; there are no illusions of boundaries. They comprise a unit, but individually they are stable. It’s gestalt, or some kind of queer shadow of it. Megan’s parents put them through years of therapy, as a precaution for this sort of thing. Megan guesses it didn’t take her parents long to realize that their girls were on different paths, even though they trod them so close together. They didn’t need to be separated. They have their own ideas, their own desires. Sometimes they line up, sometimes they clash. 

So it makes sense that Rachael’s coming to Australia. She always vowed that when money wasn’t an object, Rachael was coming along too, damn it. And it makes sense that Sarah hugs Rachael just as long as she embraces Megan after they lumber through Customs. But Megan gets to hold Sarah’s hand in the elevator. Megan gets to ride shotgun while Rachael reclines on their big, shared, suitcase in the back row. It reinforces the subtle order, Megan thinks later, these little moments of superiority. 

That night is nothing terribly special. They dance around the awkward split in the group just before going to bed. Rachael just giggles, tired.

“Just come get your shit so you don’t wake me up rifling around,” she instructs. She changes Sarah’s ice preferences to ‘crushed’ and depresses the lever patiently. 

“Bring me anything?” Sarah asks. Megan passes her at the kitchen entryway, throws a well-practiced glance over her shoulder. The second bedroom is close to the kitchen, but is on the opposite side of the flat from the Master. 

“Yes, it’s purple and frilly,” Rachael calls, nonchalant.

“Shut up,” Megan retorts, even though that’s exactly what she’s grabbing from her side of the suitcase. She crumples up the teddy amidst her toiletry bag and an old tee, so no one can see it when she darts across the apartment. She screams a quick goodnight at Rachael before Sarah slams the bedroom door behind them, fingers already tickling Megan’s sides.

+

Megan thinks something might happen when they decide to go clubbing a few nights after the jetlag wears off. Sarah’s friends drink like sailors, so Megan’s feeling juvenile sipping her Cape Cod in Sarah’s apartment. Rachael’s conducting a round of Fuck the Dealer, snappily demanding drinks of the crowd. Sarah’s right there with her, bullying dudes into guessing wrong when Rachael needs Color, Suit, Even, Odd. Megan can’t get into it though. She plunks another shot of vodka into her cup wordlessly in the disheveled kitchen. 

They split up, take a few cabs. Of course, Sarah’s climbing in behind her, but Rachael’s right there on the other side. Two guys, following at Rachael’s heels, take the fold-down seats against the Plexiglas divider. Rachael’s leaning forward the whole time, framing her tits together just beneath the line of buttons she’s carefully undone. Sarah leans heavily into Megan at a turn, like she’s trying to squeeze the stop from Megan’s throat. 

“Hey,” Sarah presses her nose to Megan’s ear. “I love you,” she whispers.

“Love you too,” Megan looks down when she says it. Sarah digs into her side bag so stealthily that Megan doesn’t realize what she has until the boys are reaching with their palms up. Sarah divvies them up fairly. Rachael swallows hers with the water bottle of vodka one of the boys snuck through the lobby in his jeans. Sarah makes a special offer to Megan, poises to set the little pill on Megan’s tongue. 

“What is it?” Megan checks. Sarah doesn’t skip a beat.

“Molly,” Sarah says. Megan looks around the cab, but no one else cares. They boys are interested in Rachael again; it’s just her and Sarah.

“Will I be okay?” she asks under her breath.

“I’ll take care of you,” Sarah says back. Megan hardly tastes the chalky residue, the Svedka melts it away. 

She doesn’t feel so great when they’re waiting outside to get in. The city’s hot, and everyone’s standing so close, talking so loud that their faces are beet red. She leans on Sarah, who keeps a steady rhythm rubbing Megan’s back through her chiffon top. When they get in, to their reserved table that Sarah passes off humbly as “no big deal,” and Megan gets a bottle of water in her, she feels much better. She can feel the bass like it’s inside of her; she smiles as she watches people flitting through the crowd. Rachael’s perched on a guy’s lap when the bottle service girl brings their set up. She girl pours a shot directly into Rachael’s mouth.

On the dance floor, Sarah’s all over her. It’s what Megan realizes she’s been looking forward to—showing Sarah off in public, getting possessive over her. When Rachael comes up though, with a boy behind her stupidly clinging, Sarah’s the one who gets caught in the middle. And maybe Megan’s hands crash with Rachael’s while they’re figuring it out, getting into a weird chain of rhythm at their hips. 

And maybe it’s Rachael who shrugs the guy away, or maybe he just gets bored or uncomfortable. And maybe it’s Sarah who gets excited by the capture, or Megan who seems overly cautious, but either way Sarah turns around. She presses her ass into Megan’s hips, but drapes her arms around Rachael’s shoulders. And maybe they touch foreheads. And maybe Sarah’s closing her eyes and mouthing along with the lyrics, but Megan can’t tell. Megan gets lost, her vision stuck in the middle distance. She’s staring at the strobe lights bouncing against the rafters; she’s noticing every square inch of her tongue pressing to the roof of her mouth. 

It feels good to sweat. She feels stupid for liking the way Sarah’s back is pressed against her. She starts to think, in that floaty absent way where she can’t distinguish between old thoughts and new revelations. All is one, the compartments in her brain melt away. Rachael’s looking at her, they’re so close, but Megan just feels like she’s looking through her. Sarah’s nest of tangled hair is dipped onto Rachael’s shoulder. Megan doesn’t think she sees Sarah’s lips working on Rachael’s neck, but the thought of it doesn’t bother her like she thought it would. It’s just happening, right in front of her like she’s on the sidelines. She can’t do anything about it. She closes her own eyes and doesn’t really realize that she needs to keep them open until they’re waiting for another cab outside.

Sarah’s got Megan propped up, mostly. They’re the same size, and Megan’s walking, sure, but she’s not really doing much to help Sarah keep her body upright. Megan’s arm is around Sarah’s shoulders, probably tilting her head in an effort to hold her tightly. 

“Am I, what time is it?” Megan asks. She’s shocked at the way her tongue moves. She feels like it takes days to put the sentence together.

“Cab time,” Sarah tries. 

“Have we been dancing?” Megan asks, more for herself.

“For hours,” Rachael supplies. Megan lolls her head to the other side, notices that Rachael’s arm is around Megan’s midsection. It’s resting just above Sarah’s arm, which is snaked around Megan’s hips. She realizes that she remembers it all, the seemingly endless rotation of songs, the rounds of drinks at the table. It’s just past.   
She can’t do much about it. She can’t do much about having those thoughts on the dance floor.

It’s just the three of them plus two more of Sarah’s friends that make it back upstairs. It’s Rachael that makes everyone a vodka drink. It’s Rachael that slides onto Sarah’s knee when Megan’s in the bathroom. It’s Rachael that suggests they play telephone. It’s Rachael that presses her lips to Sarah’s ear for endless seconds and it’s Rachael that makes Megan’s blood boil. It’s Rachael that Megan is eyeing when she hears the message from Sarah--senseless jargon. And it’s Rachael that laughs loudest when Megan repeats it aloud, all wrong, all lost in translation. 

It’s Rachael that puts Megan to Sarah’s bed while Sarah sees her friends to the elevator. 

“Is the party over?” Megan tries to sit up. Rachael’s taking off her jeans, dutifully. She stumbles back a little bit when they come off Megan’s legs.

“Yeah, for tonight,” Rachael responds. She hiccups, looks for a place to fold the jeans but just drops them in a stack on Sarah’s floor.

“Did you have fun, sparkles?” Megan asks.

“Lots,” Rachael says. “Can I trust Sarah to sleep in here tonight with you?” She asks out of some twisted concern. Megan doesn’t have the energy to read into it.

“She’s not gonna rape me in my sleep, Rachael, god.” Megan turns over. She grabs Sarah’s pillow and stuffs it close to her body.

“Okay! Don’t blame me for asking!” Rachael says, mock defensive. 

“She’s my girlfriend,” Megan mumbles. 

“I know,” Rachael counters. Megan wants to say more, but it takes too long to put the thoughts together. The blankets are so soft, so crisp and cool after the exposure to the naked air conditioning all day. When Sarah does climb in, stark naked, Megan’s never felt anything more comforting than the warmth of her body, invading every single pore of her.

+

They decide to be more wholesome the next day and spend the early afternoon snaking through galleries in the museum. It’s a quiet day, introspective for them all. Sarah’s holding her hand with confidence through each wide doorway. Rachael’s their guide, interpreting the pictographic floor map so that they hit the notables first. Rachael makes them spend entirely too much time at each display because she wants to read every placard, wants to put every piece in a context of something else she’s confident was occurring simultaneously.

Sarah plays along too, stoops to read and study the intricate patterns on the Victorian china. It’s there that Megan catches the weighted interactions between her sister and her girlfriend. They’re both oblivious to their reflections in the glass, whispering to each other about the delicate bone cutlery and the thin blue hand-painted scrolls around the gold brimmed plates. Megan sees them as two faces floating over the display case, sees them as two cherubs innocently admiring in the darkness of the studio lighting. It’s not lost on Megan, the irony of shielding glass with more glass, the pointed way in which Sarah looks like she’s calculating how many pieces of broken things she could produce with just a single, solid punch. 

Megan decides she needs to sit down for the exhibit. She goes into the next room, shares a bench with a rotating cast of mother and child, pairs of a tour group dejected, an elderly couple. Megan wants to be angry, knows she should be jealous, but it doesn’t come. She can’t inspire much more than apathy; she resigns herself to the wills of those she loves, decides they’ll know when to push if it’s really that important. It takes Sarah and Rachael forever to stop looking at that stupid china. But when they emerge, Rachael quietly admits that’s she hot and hungry and wants to go somewhere with a daiquiri.

Wholesome doesn’t last too long. They swing by the grocery for daquiri and shish kabob supplies and show up at Sarah’s friend’s house with the pool just in time for the first lines of coke. It’s Rachael who’s reluctant this time, even after seeing Megan calmly sniff one herself. She’s not so reluctant later though, cannon-balling into the infinity edged pool with reckless abandon. Megan gets a good tan in the late afternoon sun. 

Sarah’s stupidly charming yelling, with a thick accent, “THA BAHR-BEE,” whenever Rachael comes to claim another kabob. They watch the sunset with flutes of champagne and another cut of lines for everyone off the glass table they drag onto the balcony. Megan tries to be humble, but she wants. She covertly buys a gram from Sarah’s friend before they leave, not long after nine.

When it’s just the three of them, lumped together on the couch, Megan knows something is going to happen. Sarah’s wedged into the middle with Megan curled up at her side. Sarah’s legs are splayed open, not crossed as if she doesn’t want to show any preference. They’re watching a Girls marathon thanks to Sarah’s DVR, and even though Megan’s wanted to see this show, she can’t stay focused. Her peripheral vision pops with every slight movement. She watches it happen slowly, Rachael snuggle her toes under Sarah’s thigh. Sarah just puts her hand on Rachael’s ankle, so calm and open. Like she doesn’t care if Megan sees. Like she wants her to.

If you asked Megan how it happened, she probably couldn’t tell you. Even though she’s been resting on the couch, her heart rate is skyrocketing inside of her chest because Sarah’s pulling both her and her sister by their trusting wrists into Sarah’s room. Sarah takes off her own shirt first, confident in her understated black bra. She pulls Megan in, kisses her like a reassurance of normalcy. She puts Megan’s hands on her chest, encourages Megan to paw at Sarah’s breasts like she knows Sarah likes. Sarah presses into Megan, but reaches out for Rachael blindly. 

Rachael comes up behind Sarah, adds her own pressure to the empty side of Sarah’s body. Sarah reaches behind her shoulders, curls her fingers through Rachael’s hair. Rachael ducks, starts to kiss at the tendons between Sarah’s ear and shoulder. Megan’s kissing Sarah’s face wherever she can land her lips. She bumps into Rachael’s t-shirt clad breasts with her knuckles as she goes to undo Sarah’s bra. Rachael doesn’t look up, really. Just with her eyes. Megan tries not to look, but its Rachael. Her best friend. Sarah’s bra falls to the floor silently. 

Megan ducks to catch Sarah’s nipple in her lips. It’s a weird angle, Megan feels like she’s servicing her or something. But Sarah’s honey-thick moans make her stomach flutter. Sarah tilts to a strange bend, crooks her ass back against Rachael and thrusts her chest at Megan. Sarah moves to Megan’s hair, plays with her ears like she knows Megan likes. Rachael, bless her, does her best at being rough, demanding. She starts the bump and grind with Sarah, goes for the tell-tale blued spot on Sarah’s neck. Sarah twists, easily, and catches Rachael’s lips for the first time. 

Megan notices, hears the velvet slide of their tongues like a siren’s song. Slowly, Megan slides her fingers over Sarah’s waist. Rachael’s hands are there too, fisted around Sarah’s belt loops. Megan switches to Sarah’s other breast; she finds her ignored nipple erect and straining to be stimulated. Megan gets Sarah’s trousers unbuttoned and Rachael helps to push them to the floor. 

Climbing onto the bed, Megan stays level with Sarah’s hips. Her panties are something of a joke, a flossy thin thong that Megan’s never seen her wear before. She spends a minute licking around the thong, biting at the juncture where her hips turn soft and fleshy. She feels a hand in her hair and she takes it as a sign of encouragement. The hand pushes at the thin spandex of the waistband and travels further up Sarah’s chest. Megan knows it’s Rachael, knows Rachael’s trying to understand where she can fit in. But Megan doesn’t want to think about it, it’s not her circus to lead, so she dives into Sarah’s warm cunt with aplomb. 

Sarah moans into Rachael’s mouth. Even though she’s tasked, Megan can see Sarah struggling with the clasp on Rachael’s dumb shorts. Rachael helps her undo to clasp, Megan watches over the mounds of Sarah’s smooth abdomen, and Sarah snakes her fingers hastily underneath Rachael’s underwear. Megan reaches over, very carefully, and pulls down Rachaels shorts. She brushes over the cotton covering Sarah’s knuckles as she’s teasing Rachael’s clit slowly. Megan finds familiarity there, knows Sarah’s moves. It’s just weird to see them from this angle, feel them turned for a different purpose. 

Sarah pushes Megan’s mouth away from her crotch, explains hastily that she doesn’t want to come yet. She pulls at Megan, gets her to mount her for a moment before tugging on Megan’s clothes. Rachael breaks contact with Sarah’s lips, but not her fingers still working between her legs, in order to tear her own t shirt off. Megan has to lean awkwardly on Rachael’s side as she kicks her legs free from her own shorts. Their shaven legs, all rubbing together in a tangle at the middle of the bed, provide a delicious, dark sensation for Megan as she’s adjusting how she sits on Sarah’s hips. 

Sarah does an expert job of keeping the pace, the pressure on Rachael’s cunt while bucking up against Megan for that friction of their naked hips. Megan’s entranced, somewhat, at watching Rachael’s hips bow to Sarah’s hand, crooked at the right angle to slide right through Rachael’s wet lips. Rachael’s panties, still looped around her hips, provide an odd method of censorship. Sarah pushes at them, disrupting their balance.

Megan ends up behind Sarah, fingers deftly working her clit. She’s watching them kiss, watching Sarah push Rachael’s leg to bend deliciously at the knee. When she slides a tentative finger inside of Rachael, Megan responds by trembling her middle finger lightly over Sarah’s entrance. It gives Sarah’s muscles just a hint of stimulation, like Megan’s only suggesting, not asking. Sarah groans but not in a way that Megan doesn’t want to hear over and over.

Rachael comes with Sarah’s two fingers inside of her, Sarah’s thumb brushing over her clit deviously. Rachael rolls with it, takes a moment to come down before joining Megan’s fingers between Sarah’s legs. Megan didn’t expect this, didn’t anticipate competing with her for this, but that’s how it turns out. Sarah’s biting at Rachaels shoulder with precipice. Megan tries not to think about it, how strange it is to be slick and sharing the same woman in bed. But Rachael helps, puts her own fingers inside Sarah because she has a better angle. And Megan goes back to Sarah’s clit, whipping tiny circles over the tense, wet nerves just there. 

Sarah’s always vocal, always muttering something, which Megan finds incredibly sexy. It’s no different, a litany of oh god, fuck, fuck me that makes Megan wicked and proud. She can tell when Sarah’s just a sliver away and she betrays the sure contact with Sarah’s clit to nudge Rachael’s hands away. Rachael backs off, but refuses to pull out. Instead, she angles her fingers away, so that she doesn’t brush Megan’s anymore. She slides in a third, gets the right leverage to press forward, against that ridged spot that makes everything more intense. Of course, it makes Sarah come, makes her bite down into Rachael’s deltoid and scream around it. 

It’s weirdly silent for a moment, like Sarah can’t decide who to attack first. She ends up pushing the twins together on the bed, slides down to pleasure them both with her mouth. She goes down on Megan first, toying with Rachael’s cunt with the other hand. Megan closes her eyes, plays with her own breasts delicately. Rachael touches Megan’s free wrist where it’s wedged between their bodies. Megan wants to hold Rachael’s hand, but convinces herself not to. Almost like a punishment, Sarah backs away and ducks her head in between Rachael’s pale legs. Megan’s sickly in love with watching Sarah go down on her sister. She attempts it with all the fervor and dedication that Megan’s accustomed to. She wants to hate herself for thinking it’s beautiful, for loving that she sees Sarah’s earnest desire to please this wantonly on display.

When Rachael comes, she’s looking out the dark window. She’s kind of strangely looming while Sarah attempts to finish Megan off. Rachael looks down her body from her vantage point of her boosted elbow. She dares to put her hand on Megan’s hip, like she’s done so many times before. Megan decides to look at her, against her better judgment. The look on Rachael’s face is strange, something Megan’s never seen before. Maybe because, when she’s looking at Rachael’s beady, beautiful eyes, when she’s letting Sarah lick deeper into her folds, letting her get closer and closer to bringing her off, she’s seeing her own desires reflected there. She’s seeing the unfulfilled half of her on display, the wanton, miserable separation between her best friend and her lover, bridged or broken, she can’t decide. She can’t, they can’t. It hurts to want but be unable to settle, unable to score. Megan comes, almost like falling off a precipice—suddenly and with great silent arch. 

She doesn’t cry—none of them do. They can’t sleep, with the coke and the pregnant air. Sarah’s so at ease, makes comfortable jokes and pecks each of them on the lips. Maybe it has to do with the sloppy round of kisses and half-innocent touches that turn to petting, stroking, nuzzling. It gets Sarah going again, and she’s first to turn to Megan. With Sarah’s hands sliding down her torso, Megan can feel Rachael’s hands wandering over Sarah’s skin too—like they’re spilling a soft wind across her body. Megan closes off her pinhole vision, decides to pour all of her sensory awareness into the way her girlfriend’s hands pleasure her so confidently, in the way her girlfriend bucks her hips at the sweet affection from Rachael’s increasingly bold hands.

+

When Megan wakes, it’s to the sound of the shower. The sun’s up; she’s the only one in Sarah’s bed and she’s naked. She tries to be stealth, sneaking over to the commode, but the shower door is all glass and Rachael sees her immediately.

“Wait your turn!” she calls over the cascade.

“Turn around,” Megan shoots back. She flushes, out of vengeance.

At the stove, Sarah’s scrambling a large skillet of eggs. 

“I smell biscuits,” Megan notes. She slides onto the barstool.

“Croissants, bitch,” Sarah corrects. She opens the oven door. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Sarah’s called to indoor practice for the better part of afternoon, so Megan and Rachael somehow get on the right bus for the mall.

Megan feels like she’s walking on eggshells when Rachael wordlessly pulls her into the line for bubble tea and orders for them both without consulting Megan. Megan wants to be annoyed at Rachael, for being bossy as always. The mall is crowded; Megan doesn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than necessary. It’s impossible to hold a grudge, it seems too trivial. The drink is delicious and it’s easy for Rachael to start whirring gossip about their friends back home that they haven’t covered during their vacation yet. 

Rachael’s always been the one to pick their direction, to hold ultimate influence over which stores they prowl through together. It doesn’t bother Megan one bit, to just fall in line and go with the flow. It lets her invest fully in their conversation, lets her get out of her head so much and into the moment. Even during breakfast, there was a thick air stirring between the three of them. Megan suspects they are waiting for her to say anything, to indicate that she’s fine, nothing’s wrong. Megan knows it doesn’t matter, knows that Rachael’s not judging or trying to make it a thing that comes between them now. Megan’s trying not to get jealous over how cool her sister is, how she could never behave with the same tenacity and poise had the tables been reversed.

Megan can tell Rachael’s being careful, in her gentle, subtle way that infuriated Megan when they were teenagers. Rachael agrees with everything Megan says she likes. Megan’s tactile, and Rachael’s hands follow Megan’s so they brush the same fabrics when Megan notes them aloud, tests the feel of the weaves against her fingerprints.

They wind up with a few glossy bags and the same, deflated hairstyle with the humidity taking its toll. Megan and Rachael share a row on the bus and flip through the coffee table book of sarcastic advice that Rachael bought for Sarah. The precedence for the purchase is irrelevant; Megan laughs all the same. 

When Rachael leans into Megan as the bus makes a wide turn, it’s like the net is lifted off of her. It’s just their arms that smush together, but it reminds Megan of sitting together on the school bus and in the back of the family car and basically everywhere else where her sister has been irrevocably close. Megan accepted it long ago—they are extensions of each other. It’s Rachael. How could she not love her?

**Author's Note:**

> Please respect the integrity of this piece and do not share on other platforms without the express permission of the author. Characters intended as representations and therefore projections. Please be kind and leave some feedback if you enjoyed! I want to say thanks to [flickings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flickings/works) for giving this a read through!


End file.
